


When the Siren Wails

by aguidetomurder (TheSignsOfDeduction)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Episode: s02e06 In The Flesh, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Self-Harm, Siren, The Rising (In the Flesh)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2535620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSignsOfDeduction/pseuds/aguidetomurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon Monroe has the key to the Second Rising, but will he choose it over Kieren's life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Death Is Waiting, Dressed Like An Admiral

Simon feels the dagger handles in his hand carefully, cold, steely eyes - even for an undead - scanning every single one of them. Would this have been his weapon of choice? When would Amy find out? Would this even work? He conjured up as many questions as he could in order to avoid one that he couldn’t face.

_What would Kieren think?_

He thought about the Undead Prophet, and suddenly the image of Kieren was muffled. He opened his eyes with a newfound determination and he picked a blade, the most uncomplicated one, the most elegant one and he slid it into the pocket of his blazer.

He walked out of the room purposefully, thinking only about the importance of his duty, his responsibility and what this would mean in the grand scheme of things. Too many had died for this cause already, what was one more?

“Simon,” Zoe started.

“Yeah?” Simon prompted nonchalantly.

“When the dead rise today, what will they be like?” She asked with a innocence in her voice and genuine curiosity in her eyes.

Simon reminded himself that this was what - no, who - he was doing this for, his own kind. He kept this close to his heart and he suddenly decided that he was doing the moral thing. He took a step closer to Zoe.

“The second rising will be,” He stopped as he didn’t know. He didn’t know what would happen, or if it would even happen. But he did remember what the Undead Prophet had said, what the Bible had said. _The dead shall rise; incorruptible. And we shall be changed._

“Well they’re gonna change things. They’re going to put an end to the suffering and persecution. After the second rising, we ain’t gonna be treated like that anymore.” He wasn’t sure what he said after the first sentence was accurate, but it’s what the Undead Prophet said.

“Can we help you do it?” Zoe asked.

Even when it came to killing, Simon couldn’t bear to let anyone else do it. In a strange, unfathomable way, he wanted Kieren’s last seconds to be with him, no matter that he was the one to be forcing those last seconds on Kieren.

“I gotta do this alone.”

“Well, what should we do?” She asked once more.

“Prepare.” Simon said. He often said things so vague that people could not fault him or it or prove him wrong. It was one of the conversion techniques he used. So he left the bungalow to walk to Kieren’s house, leaving a group of dumbfounded Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers to figure out what he meant.

 

* * *

 

If his heart worked, it would have been beating out of his chest. But just because he didn’t have a beating heart to prove it doesn’t mean he was any less nervous. His eyebrows were buried in a deep furrow and his lips were pressed tightly. He thought of only the way he would do it. He turned and with a heavy heart he looked up to the street.

It was Gary’s truck

His face filled with surprise as this was completely unprecedented. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, figuring out his best course of action. He thought first about whether he could take on Gary, whether he could beat someone whose job description was basically killing the Undead. He decided that at least, if he couldn’t kill Gary, he wouldn’t have to kill Kieren. He thought about what if he could kill Gary. Then at least he’d be balanced morally right? The killing of an evil to match in renown the killing of an innocent? He’d still have to kill his boyfriend, but at least he could live with himself a little bit better.

He thought that maybe Gary’s presence wasn’t so bad after all.

He continued, taking long strides, pulling the knife out of his blazer and clutching the handle tightly. He quietly slipped into the open door that Gary had not closed. He could hear the sounds of the two upstairs.

“You know he’s planning an attack don’t ya?” Gary said forcefully.

There was a slight pause.

“No,” Kieren admitted.

“He fucking is. Today.” Gary replied.

He told himself he could no longer stop to think about this. He’d been thinking enough. With his mind blank and weapon ready, he went up the stairs.

“I’m gonna ask you for the last time. Where’s the Irish rotter?” Gary said as he glared menacingly into Kieren’s eyes.

“I’m here.” Simon announced with the hand holding the dagger behind his back. He stormed towards Gary and Gary turned to him, eyes bewildered and scared. The second Gary had turned to face him, Simon sank the blade deep into Gary’s heart, pulling it out straight after.

“What the _fuck_?” Kieren demanded, his hands still tied behind his back.

Simon turned to Kieren, who obviously thought that he was not in danger of Simon, unlike Gary. But Kieren hadn’t yet seen the cold fire that had made Simon’s eyes its home. Kieren hadn’t yet seen the dagger still firmly in Simon’s right hand. He hadn’t yet realised that he was next. That is, until he saw the dagger swiftly coming straight for his head. And suddenly, there was nothing for Kieren to realise anymore.

Simon pulled the dagger out and dropped it. For the first time since he knew he had to kill Kieren, he allowed himself to feel it. And it hurt a lot.

He dropped to his knees and looked around, waiting for the tears that would not come. His vision was crystal clear and there would be nothing to obscure it. He looked up to face what he’d done and he wished... he  wished... He wished that it’d had been him to die, so he wouldn’t be able to bear it. He buried his face in his hands on Kieren’s bed, two people dead lying around him.

“I love you.”

 

 


	2. (Do Not) Go Gentle Into That Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon faces the guilt of his decision, and the weight on his shoulders piles up.

“Kieren?” Simon called hopefully, “Kieren is that you?”

He started walking towards the silhouette of someone who looked like Kieren in the distance, but Kieren seemed to get further and further away. He broke into a sprint and charged at Kieren.

“Kieren!” His voice was strangled and he was out of breath, his hands were clammy and finally, Kieren stopped moving.

“Kieren.” Simon smiled as he reached a hand out to his lover. Kieren turned around, his face morphed and distorted in the way a rabid’s was. His eyes, though already two black pupils in an otherwise white eye, seemed ever so much more menacing. Kieren lunged for Simon and knocked Simon to the floor. He was on top of Simon. Simon couldn’t fight Kieren; his legs were paralysed. He started screaming as Kieren dug hands into his brain.

He woke up.

He woke up panting, but his hands weren’t clammy (how could they be?) and he took a deep breath, eyes firmly shut.

It was done. It was done and it was over, and nothing he can do could change that.

That’s what he told himself whenever he the thoughts were too much, when they bombarded his mind with cold attacks of guilt. But although it was true that it was over, it did not change the fact that he had been the one to make it so.

He ran through the lie he would tell Amy once he saw her, because he knew that she wouldn’t ever be able to get over the death of her Best Dead Friend Forever. He’d say that he ran into the house when he saw Gary’s truck parked outside Kieren’s house and was too late, for Gary had already killed Kieren. Being vengeful and lost in his sadness- no, _devastation,_ -he killed Gary. That’d work, right?

He started thinking, also, about who the second rising would bring back. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Kieren back, but as soon he thought this, a new wave of guilt rushed over him.

He sighed as he made his way to the graveyard and told himself that he’d at least have a little more time to perfect his lie to Amy, given her presence at the village fete. He approached, and he saw most of the Undead in Roarton chanting “Rise” repeatedly in front of various graves. He felt a certain sense of pride that he had made the lives of them better, and even more when he thought about him being the one to have sparked the second rising.

The following that he had gathered over the past few months flocked to him, eagerly awaiting news.

“Is it done, Simon?” One of them asked. Simon knew that he had referred to it as ‘it’ only because they did not know what he had to do.

“It is done. Prepare, for the dead will rise soon.” Simon announced confidently, half-smiling.

Smiles and grins manifested themselves on every one of their faces and they looked at each other excitedly. Then, they heard the sound of a march in the distance.

“The march.” Zoe spat the words out, as if the very presence of the march was an invasion on a moment like this. The anger welled up in her eyes, but Simon put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry.”

Simon calmly and resolutely walked up to the marches, who had since grown displeased, perhaps because about twenty Partially Diseased Syndrome sufferers without cover up had interrupted their untainted march with their presence.

“What’s this?” Someone called out loudly in the back above the crowd.

In fact, they had gotten so rowdy and uncontrollable that Jemima Walker had to turn to them and yell, “ _I’ve got this._ ”

“What’s the problem here?” Simon asked Jem politely, eyes darting pointedly to the crowd.

“We want you to move.” Jem said, a bit forcefully. She had a duty as the leader of this march, and that was to see that it went uninterrupted.

Simon intertwined his fingers and looked directly at her.

“Normally, we wouldn’t have a problem with that, but you see,” He paused to look at the other PDS sufferers, “Today’s an important day.”

“It’s an important day for us too!” Jem replied with more force. This earned a few Yeah’s from the crowd.

Simon nodded his head understandingly. “Would you consider skipping one location? It wouldn’t be too much trouble, we won’t bother you.”

Jem looked to the crowd for a second, then back at him for a few more seconds and heaved a sigh. She thought about her brother, and how silly the feud between PDS people and the living was. She resigned herself and gave in. “Okay.”

“We’re going around here!” Jem announced to the other marchers.

“You’re letting them win?” A marcher asked in disbelief.

“I’m reaching a compromise.”

Simon turned back to the group of Undead and smiled slightly.

“Any time now.” Zoe confirmed excitedly as they started to chant “Rise” again.

“I’m gonna go to the village fete. I need to find Amy.” Simon said briefly before walking off.

 

 

“Where d’ya think you’re going?” A lady asked him, “Where’s your ticket?”

He turned to her and looked at the tiny pile of tickets on the table. There were many times more people than tickets, and he knew instantly that he was stopped because he was PDS. “I was not aware.”

“If you don’t have a ticket, _leave_.” She said the last word like an order.

Simon looked around the room, and he couldn’t spot Amy. He ignored the lady and left.

He didn’t know where to go next. He couldn’t look for Amy, for he didn’t know where she was. He couldn’t go back to the graveyard, because he couldn’t stand the thought of the possibility of the rising not happening. Besides, the wait would be excruciating. Instead, he found himself going to the one place where he had first noticed Kieren. Like, really noticed him

The hospital.

As he sat alone in the waiting area, staring at the empty PDS cage and the ‘Receptionist For Hire’ notice next to the ‘Ring bell for assistance’ sign and the places where Kieren and him were together at. It was the first time he’d been convinced to do something he didn’t want to, and that, though annoying, made him realize that he liked Kieren. He remembered how Kieren was unwavering in his righteousness, his own personal set of moral values. He remembered how Kieren’s lips tasted. He remembered how alive and human and vulnerable Kieren made him feel. He remembered he took that away from himself.

“Help! Someone help!” A strained and desperate voice called.

Simon leapt to his feet and opened the front doors of the hospital only to be greeted with the sight of a sweat-covered Philip and a limp Amy in his arms. Philip screamed and Simon shouted for the doctor. Simon took Amy in his arms to relieve Philip and they ran into the Dr. Russo’s room.

The doctor was baffled, as was Simon.

“How did this happen?” He asked, his mouth slightly opened and frown present.

“We were at the graveyard and- and Ms. Martin comes up to us and says something about Amy being the first and the last..” Philip struggled for words, devastated and confused.

“She’s bleeding,” the doctor whispered, a hint of shock in his voice.

“Well you’ve got to do something!” Philip said to the doctor as the doctor got up.

“I don’t understand!”

Doctor Russo returned with a towel and started giving Amy cardiopulmonary resuscitations by giving her chest compressions. Unfortunately, this was to no avail.

“She’s lost too much blood..” Dr. Russo quickly checks her eyes and his theory is confirmed. “Her pupils have changed..”  He stands up, defeated.

“What are you doing?” Simon asks angrily.

He looks up to both Simon and Philip, and his eyes find Philip, whose lips are quivering and eyes are in defiant disbelief. He looks straight into Philip’s eyes.

“She’s gone.”

“No,” Philip protests, “No she’s not.”

He is on the brink of falling apart, and his lips are a testament to that. He looks around, at Dr. Russo, at Simon, who both keep quiet. Philip feels the onslaught of tears as the truth starts seeping in against his will, and he brings his hands up to his head in a futile attempt to block reality out. The room is now painfully quiet, except for Philip’s sobbing. Simon stands, unmoving, staring at a lifeless Amy. His face betrays him; it does not show his pain – pain, of losing both a lover and a close friend in one day. Simon cannot bear it anymore, he walks out and back to the bungalow, and he opens the refrigerator to foods and drinks that Amy had bought, but for what purpose, he didn’t know and he didn’t care anymore.

He raised a bottle of milk in the air and gulped down all of it, then he reached for biscuits and ate all of them. His body reacted almost immediately, growling and hurting where it shouldn’t growl or hurt. Halfway through his third biscuit, he felt the overwhelming need to puke, and he hated it and wanted it at the same time. Kind of the same way he used to harm himself with a blade across his skin. He doubled over the sink and black bile-looking substance came spewing out. He coughed and vomited out as much as he could, because when his body was preoccupied with pain, it wouldn’t think about Kieren and Amy.

After a few full hours of torture and vomiting, and torture and vomiting, he resigned to his bed, his body worn out the way he wanted. He melted into the covers and sheets that promised nothing, no comfort or escape, for even they allowed nightmares to seep into his head. He fell asleep almost immediately and wished that when he woke up, this would have all been a terrible dream.

But since when was it ever so simple?


	3. Because I Could Not Stop For Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I could not stop for Death,  
> He kindly stopped for me;  
> The carriage held but just ourselves  
> And Immortality.

To put it simply, the rising did not happen. The PDS sufferers decided that the second risers were probably not going to rise that day, and after a few hours, they headed home. Now, it was a week later, and Simon sat at the side of his bed, staring at his hands. He was dressed in a navy blue suit with a flower in his breast pocket. It was the day of the funeral.

Of _their_ funerals, to be precise.

He prepared a flower for Amy and a handwritten note to Kieran. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like they were ever going to see it. He now found it ridiculous that he had even written a note to a dead man. He looked over to the small pile of crumpled papers full of writings he had scrapped. He was all alone with his thoughts now. When he had told the Undead Prophet about what happened, all the Prophet did was acknowledge it nonchalantly, as if this had been a likely possibility all along. The rest of the Roarton Undead, he hadn’t seen in days. He wasn’t sure what to tell them and they weren’t quite sure what to think of the circumstances. He had, however, used the lie he was going to tell Amy on Kieran’s family, who were now utterly devastated. To think, _he_ had robbed a family of their only son.

He looked at himself one last time in the mirror and he walked out the door, walking in the direction of the joint funeral.

 

* * *

 

 

As he approached the funeral, he saw a few familiar faces. Sue Walker heard him approach and looked back to smile at him, if only because he had been her son’s boyfriend. Simon just stared haggardly at her. What could he tell her? What could he say when the result of his actions had earned himself a ‘Thank you so much’ and ‘We know how much he liked you’ from the very family of the person he killed? What could he say when Jemima Walker locked herself in her room for days crying when both her brother and boyfriend had been murdered? _Murdered._

He tasted the word and spat it out.

He went to stand by Philip, partially so that he could occupy himself with comforting someone, but Philip refused to say a single word. He stood rigid, and he looked less human than he had ever looked before. His face was emotionless, except for the multitude of emotions that showed themselves in his eyes.

Shirley looked to Simon with downcast eyes and just shook her head. Simon nodded understandingly.

The procession went on as such – silent, sometimes interrupted by sobs, but silent nonetheless. No one was letting go. How could they? Sue turned into Steve’s chest and sobbed as she saw Kieran’s coffin being laid down into the ground. Jemima was next to them, with tears streaming down her face, but it was dulled, exhausted. You’d wonder if she even knew she was crying. Steve put both arms around his wife, lost for words of comfort. He thought it, but he couldn’t say it. _We’ll get through this. We’ve done it before._

Simon looked down. He couldn’t watch Kieran being put six feet under. He felt his heart sink and he closed his eyes as hard he could. “Please bring Kieran back.” He whispered under his breath, so softly that no one could hear. As the words left his lips, it was like a dam had broken down. He felt straight to his hands and knees, heaving deeply and screaming into the ground. He heard a sharp intake of breath; probably Sue’s, and then he heard the coffin being finally put down in the ground. He screamed even harder, clutching the earth where his hands were, furious at himself. He put his head down in between where his hands were and the screaming died down, but his hands still dug into the ground as hard as possible. He couldn’t watch Amy’s coffin being put down too. But he still heard everything with blinding clarity. Death had also taken away his body’s ability to nullify. He felt the angry seep out of him, and as everyone else but Philip left the site, he was lying on his side, curled into himself.

Philip looked to Simon, and he held onto the tiger he had won for Amy more tightly, but not so tight that he would spoil it. He sat down in front of Amy’s grave, and inescapable words formed thoughts in his mind instead. _Please come back._

The two stayed there for hours more, unspeaking, until Philip placed the tiger down onto Amy’s grave and kneeled beside Simon. “It’s time to go.”

Simon’s eyes were unchanging as they stared into nothing, but his body obliged. He got up and they walked silently back to their own homes. Philip trailed behind Simon for a bit. He couldn’t help being a little worried for him. He heard something hit solid wood with a slight, muffled, hollow echo and he turned around swiftly to look at Amy’s grave. He saw the tiger tipped over, and he forced himself to turn around again. There were a hundred other things that could have made that sound in the harsh, windy rain, right? It just couldn’t be.. what he wanted. Not again. The last thing he wanted himself to do was get his hopes up.

 

* * *

 

 

The next night, however, Philip Wilson could not stop thinking about the possibility. Was Amy too weak now to dig herself out again? Was she out again already? What else could have made that exact sound? Was that sound simply a figment of his imagination?

He decided that he had to find out for himself. He grabbed a shovel, put as much of it as he could into as large a backpack as he could find, and exited the house as quietly as he managed. Then, he went back into the house to grab Amy’s supply of Neurotriptyline. He didn’t realise that his mother was watching him leave as she sat by her window, but she let him.

He got to the grave and he bent over the grave. “Amy?” He called out. “Amy are you there?” Philip pressed his ear to the ground and heard nothing. He started digging into the fresh soil. It took him a good three hours before he dug all the soil out of above the grave, but he did it. He braced himself, closing his eyes taking a long and deep breath before he opened the lid, making sure to have no expectations at all. He opened his eyes.

Amy was gone.


End file.
